


Part Two - Never Give a Sword to a Dwarf Who Can’t Dance

by Saraleee



Series: Nwalin Week 2014 [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Dwalin is female in this one, F/M, Nori and Dwalin week, Nori is male, Nwalin Week, alternative setting in Middle-earth, fem!Dwalin - Freeform, more in the same series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2014-05-11
Packaged: 2018-01-24 08:40:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1598618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saraleee/pseuds/Saraleee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dwalin is hunting for that mysterious jewel thief. She enlists her cousin Dis to help her. Dis is willing, but Dwalin's disguise game is ... well ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Part Two - Never Give a Sword to a Dwarf Who Can’t Dance

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Day #2 of Nwalin Week, an alternative setting in Middle-earth. So it's at a party in Ered Luin.

Dwalin lifted her chin so that the two hair combs with diamonds set _en tremblant_ didn’t fall out of her carefully curled hair. The shaved and tattooed sections of scalp were hidden by her elaborate hairstyle – it was all part of the disguise.

She was hunting the thief.

She mounted the staircase to the massive ballroom of the noble’s palatial residence. Chandeliers blazed with light that bounced off the polished stone walls and glittered on the gems and jewels adorning the guests.

Tonight, she was going to find him. She strode in, scanning the crowd.

“Stop tugging at your gown,” Cousin Dis hissed at her. “A lady never adjusts her clothes in public.”

Dwalin’s hands fell guiltily away from her absurdly low-cut bodice. Borrowed from Dis, the gown was peacock-blue, with gold bullion embroidery down the front. The skirt was divided in front and drawn up to display an underskirt patterned with a green, gold and purple peacock-feather design. The corset that nipped in her waist and made it hard to draw a breath made Dwalin long for her plain and sensible khaki uniform.

Dwalin’s beard was styled in a stiff way that framed her mouth and lay flat against her jawline. “This will really bring out your lovely full lips,” the stylist had gushed. Dis had been pleased, so Dwalin had refrained from punching a hole in the nearest wall.

“And don’t swagger. Ladies take small, dainty steps,” Dis added as they advanced into the ballroom.

“I _am_ taking dainty steps,” Dwalin growled at her. 

“Daintier than that,” Dis said, looking down her nose at her taller cousin. It was a trick that all Thrain’s children had, and Dwalin could only marvel at how effective it was.

Dis turned to her, looked her up and down, and sighed. “Well, you do look lovely tonight. That dress looks better on you than it ever did on me. And no one could have guessed that your figure was as good as it is, when you hide it under all those shapeless uniforms. You should dress up more often.”

“Great. Fine. Thanks,” Dwalin said, gritting her teeth. Her cousin meant well.

By the end of the evening, Dwalin’s jaws ached from smiling while gritting her teeth. Plenty of people had stopped to talk to her. Some had seemed very interested – she had her choice of several potential lovers by the end of the evening.

Dwalin also danced until her feet were sore. The dances were all patterns that she knew, dancers in groups bowing, advancing, retreating by pairs. Partners touched hands only, offering no opportunity to embrace, so she watched each new dwarf carefully as they approached. She looked harder at the ones whose beards were braided. Those who were lean and wiry, and about half a head shorter than she was, also got special scrutiny – she remembered the way the thief’s body had fit against hers, his hard muscles, his long-fingered, almost delicate hands. His smell, masculine and musky, spice and smoke and ale.

Her interest in him was not personal.

The music stopped, and Dwalin looked around for a chair, or a bench, or even a wall to lean against. Anything to take the pressure off feet abused by Dis’ jeweled party slippers.

“There is a little nook down the left hallway,” a voice said suddenly from her left. “Nobody else knows about it. You can take your pretty shoes off.”

She jerked her head around and saw a dwarrow. Medium height, ginger coloring, distinctive hairstyle with three peaks and a braided beard. He was grinning at her, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

She scowled at him. “I’m fine.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself. I’d rather not share the couch anyway. I’m going to put my feet up and relax.”

The dwarf with the ginger hair snaked his way smoothly through the throng in the direction of the nook he’d mentioned. Dwalin watched him enviously. Her feet were on fire.

How come he got to loll all over people’s couches?

Someone dug an elbow into her spine. “Sorry,” they said, and moved away chattering about how crowded it was. 

Growling under her breath, Dwalin shoved her way to the hallway and marched down it, her full skirt swaying wildly from side to side. Good thing Dis wasn’t there to see. 

“Over here,” the dwarrow’s voice hissed.

Dwalin followed the sound and found herself in a smallish room, just big enough for an upholstered fainting couch and a tall armoire that almost reached the ceiling.

On the couch, stretched out on his side with one elbow leaning on the raised end, was the ginger-haired dwarrow.

She kicked off her shoes. “Move over.”

“Nice talk for a lady,” he snorted as she climbed up beside him. “What happened to ‘please sir, may I share the couch with you’?”

Ignoring him, Dwalin stretched out on the fainting couch and wiggled her toes with delight. “Ah. This is nice.” She grinned at her companion. “Good idea.”

“That damned dress takes up too much room,” her companion complained, shifting to lie on his side. “Don’t know why I told you about this place. I should have let you suffer.”

“Cruel,” Dwalin said, letting her eyes drift shut.

“That’s me,” he answered. “Who are you? I haven’t seen you at one of these things before.”

“That’s because I’m too smart to come to these things. Usually,” she said. She opened her eyes. “Who are you?”

“Call me Nori.”

She nodded, letting her head fall back against the couch for a peaceful few moments. The dwarf, Nori, cleared his throat meaningfully.

“Dwalin, at your service,” she muttered. Her corset was too tight for her to sit up and bow, so she just made a rolling motion in the air with one hand instead.

He was gazing down at her intently, his head propped on one hand. Something about him seemed familiar.

She frowned at him. “What?”

He lifted one hand, let it hover over her hip, and then dropped it back at his side. “You are gorgeous.”

“Oh, please,” she groaned, and rolled her eyes.

“No, seriously. Look at you. I bet you’re solid muscle everywhere. You could break me in two.”

“Don’t tempt me,” she growled. She shoved him hard with her hips, almost pushing him off the couch.

“Hey!” He caught his balance expertly and shoved back. She clutched gracelessly at him, twining one leg around his and grabbing fistfuls of his woolen tunic. He grinned and put his hands on her waist, holding her even as he made a move to push her off again. She laughed.

It felt strange but good to be lying there with him, giggling, their hands roaming each others’ bodies. Why not? Just a bit of fun, no promises, nothing but pleasure given and received.

He stopped teasing and looked into her eyes. She held her breath. His eyes flicked down to her lips, and suddenly she wanted him, eagerly, desperately. She tilted her head up to offer her mouth. He moved closer, his lips touching hers, tasting of spices and ale, smoky and _familiar_ …

Dwalin exploded off the couch, jumping away in pure instinctive reaction as the truth burst upon her. “YOU! _Thief!”_

Then an equally strong reflex drove her toward him. Catch him catch him catchhimcatchhim…

But in that split second, the thief had leapt away, scaling the tall armoire like a mountain goat climbing a cliff.

“What is wrong with you?” Nori demanded. “I’ve never been so insulted in my life.”

“I know who you are. _Thief_.” Dwalin paced back and forth in front of the armoire, glaring up at the thief who was peering down at her from his high perch. How had he gotten up there? “You tried to rob Lady Beyla’s jewels last week. I stopped you.”

“Me?” Nori looked outraged—it would have been very convincing, too, if she hadn’t known better. “What makes you think I would do something like that?”

“You kissed me that night. I know it was you,” Dwalin said, jabbing her index finger at him.

Nori’s expression melted from haughty defensiveness to pure glee. “ _You_ ,” he breathed.

It _was_ him. The look on his face was as good as an admission of guilt.

Dwalin threw herself at the armoire, trying to find a way to climb up and murder that grinning thief. But the corset pinched and the damned dress tangled her legs so she couldn’t get to him.

With a roar of rage, she ripped the slippery silk of the bodice away and yanked the skirt and petticoats off over her hips. The corset came next, so that she was left in nothing but a brief slip.

“Oh, yeah,” Nori gloated. “I was so right about you. Magnificent.”

“Shut up,” Dwalin growled.   She took a deep breath before tackling the armoire again, looking for a handhold on it smooth oak side. There weren’t any.

She glanced up at Nori, trying to remember how he’d gotten up there. He grinned down at her. _Stupid thief._

No. It had happened too fast—she didn’t have a clear picture in her mind. Stepping back, she considered the whole space. The raised back of the couch was almost touching the side of the armoire. He must have jumped from the couch, and caught the top edge…She clambered up on the couch.

“For Mahal’s sake, Dwalin, what are you doing?” said Dis’ horrified voice.

“Catching—” Dwalin turned. “Oh.”

Dis was not alone. A group of partygoers were gathered in the entrance to the nook, their eyes wide.

Cautiously, Dis stepped forward, her hands spread out in a calming gesture. “My jewel, you’re standing naked on a couch in an empty room.”

“It’s the thief!” Dwalin shouted. “I’ve got him cornered! He’s right there—”

The space on top of the armoire was empty. The thief had vanished.

“He got away!” she snarled. _How? Where?_

A ripple of laughter ran through the partygoers.

Dis sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Oh, Dwalin. I can’t take you anywhere.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I think I recall another story with a bodice-ripping thing in it, but I can't for the life of me remember who wrote it. Oh, well, my thanks to them, whoever they may be.


End file.
